


To Remember and to Live

by hushlittlewolf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 2nd POV, Castiel's POV, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 15:47:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/915046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hushlittlewolf/pseuds/hushlittlewolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You don’t do it very often, for it is not productive to dwell in the past, but sometimes…you like to remember.</p>
<p>Or</p>
<p>The one where Castiel reflects on his life and all the events that have led him to this point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Remember and to Live

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this in between finals like 6 months ago. Enjoy and remember to comment! :)
> 
> My tumblr: http://the-wild-wolves-around-you.tumblr.com

You don’t do it very often, for it is not productive to dwell in the past, but sometimes…you like to remember.

It’s never anything in particular. In fact, it’s always something different but no less beautiful and wondrous.

You’ll remember the songs your brothers and sisters used to sing a very long time ago; so very long ago that not even that little grey fish that heaved itself onto the shore was yet born. Each song was unique and divine, full of love for the Father and for each other. You miss those songs if you were to be honest.

You’ll remember watching children play in Jerusalem, shrieking laughter and bright white smiles, speaking in dialects that have long since died out.

You’ll remember the top of Mt. Everest, desolate and barren, but no less amazing than the bustling streets of Rome in all its glory. You remember how the snow was white and peaceful and how very few men have touched it but the few who had were oh so very remarkable.

You’ll remember the bottom of the Marianas Trench and the odd creatures that dwelled there, silent in the dark and sometimes flashing with brilliant, colorful lights, just more wonders of your Father’s creation.

You’ll remember how it felt to be in the jungles of the Congo only to blink and be in the sprawling palaces of St. Petersburg.

You’ll remember what it was like to fly and feel power in your very veins, your Grace, the Song your Father had bestowed upon you eons ago.

But that’s all you can do now.  _Remember._ It’s been years and you’ve become accustomed to it. To being  **human**. It’s surprising and complex in a trillion different ways. It’s painful and messy sometimes, hard and challenging. But it is wonderful all the same.

It is funny, you think at odd moments. You had watched mankind for millennia but never had you realized how miraculous their lives could truly be.

Of course, there were some who disagreed. You remember the look in young Samandriel’s eyes when you told him of your decision.

_But why? Why would you give all **this** up?_

He had gestured around them, to a young girl’s heaven that was full of bright, happy memories and waiting, an anticipation for her mother to arrive. It was lovely and perfect.

You had smiled at the question, breathed in the peace that Heaven had finally become, that it was always supposed to be, and looked into the swirling Grace that was your brother, radiant and brilliant.

_Because,_ you had said.  _I do not believe I quite yet deserve it._

Samandriel checks in on you from time to time. There is still that doubt and confusion in his eyes but, recently, it has started to recede. You think that, maybe, he has begun to understand. If only just a little.

Your brother holds humanity in the regard that angels were always meant to, loves them as your Father commissioned you to, but it’s different. Samandriel would never join them as you have. In result, he still asks you, from time to time, if you miss it, if you regret your decision. And it’s an honest question.

Sometimes, you would say yes. When you broke your leg and three ribs last spring, bed ridden for weeks with pain and then just the inability to move without support.

Or when Sam’s dog got hit by a car, an easy fix if you still retained your Grace, but a futile experience when you are nothing beyond mortal now.

Or even when you, selfishly, wish to hear the voices of your brothers and sisters, their songs and their Graces, felt the interconnectivity that went with being a celestial warrior of God.

Sometimes, you would say yes. Yes, you miss being an angel.

“Hey Cas!”

Pulled from your reverie, you turn to see the man who called your name walking out of the small gas station you are stopped at. He smiles at you, white teeth like the children of Jerusalem, green eyes that put the leaves of the Congo to shame, and a face more beautiful than any other facet of your Father’s creation. Dean Winchester, in your biased opinion, was certainly the best thing that God had ever created.

“They had pie,” he crows as he draws near you, rattling a bag at his side. His smile grows soft and you count the crinkles along the corners of his eyes. Six on the left. Seven on the right.

“I grabbed you a piece too and some candy for the rugrats. But don’t tell Sam. He always kicks up a fit whenever I bring gifts.”

“That is most likely due to the fact that sugar riles the children up so they cannot sleep,” you say dryly but you know he sees the smile in your eyes.

Dean scoffs and drops the bag into the open window of the Impala at your back. “Yeah well…Sammy’s too strict on them. Which means I have to be the fun uncle and counteract everything my little brother says.”

You laugh and it feels easy now, second nature, human in so many ways. Dean laughs along with you and then, suddenly, there’s a hand on your jaw and warm lips brushing your own and even though you’re not an angel any more, you say a prayer of thanks to your Father for bringing you back one last time after you sacrificed yourself to close the gates of hell. You thank your Father for Sam’s wife and children and for the gas in the Impala and the every salt and burn that you and Dean still do because Dean has always been, and forever shall be, a hunter.

But, most of all, you thank your Father for the warmth in Dean’s eyes when he pulls away and the fact that he still has the ability to show such affection, though publically far and few in between.

You thank your Father for Dean Winchester, the Righteous Man, and vow that someday, you will be worthy of Heaven’s gates once more.

“Come on. Let’s hit the road. I told Sammy we’d been there for dinner.” Another warm press of slightly chapped lips and then Dean is moving around to the driver’s side and you slip into the car beside him. The engine roars to life and one of Dean’s tapes, Metallica you think, kicks on with a wailing note.

Dean turns to you and smiles again and you remember all the millennia you have been alive, the countless, infinite, things you have seen and can’t help but think nothing has been as beautiful as this moment right here, every moment you’ve spent with Dean in the past and every moment yet to come.

You think  _yes_ you miss being an angel and  _yes_ being human is much more difficult than you first assumed.

But you also think it’s more than worth it and that Heaven, in all it’s splendor, never had anything on the feel of the Impala rumbling beneath your thighs, the prospect of seeing Sam and his family, little Mary and Robert, and the sound of Dean singing, rather off key, at your side.  


End file.
